The first day back in school felt like stepping onto a chessboard where every student was a piece, and I already knew how I intended to move them.
Liam.
He had been the first boy to notice me yesterday. Just a glance, just a fleeting interest—but enough. Enough to mark him as the first in a line of players.
I watched him from across the cafeteria. His friends were loud, messy, spilling soda on their trays and laughing too loudly. He didn't join in. He lingered near the edge, pretending not to stare while I pretended not to notice.
A perfect first target.
I slid into the empty chair beside him with the practiced grace of someone who had rehearsed every movement. The cafeteria smelled of greasy pizza and stale coffee, but I ignored it. My focus was on Liam—on his reactions, his body language, his pulse beneath his casual exterior.
He looked up, startled. "Uh… hi," he said.
"Hi," I replied, soft, casual, but precise. The corners of my mouth curved just enough to suggest a smile without giving away the intention behind it.
He adjusted his sleeve nervously. "You… you're new. Crystal, right?"
"Yes," I said, nodding slowly. "Whitman now. We moved here recently."
The subtle flicker of surprise in his eyes was delicious. He hadn't expected me to have roots, a story, a life outside this school. Good. That meant he'd already underestimated me.
"So… how do you like it here so far?" he asked.
I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice just enough to create intimacy without inviting anyone else's attention. "It's… different. Quiet. Predictable. I like that. Makes it easier to… understand people."
He blinked. "Understand people?"
I shrugged, letting my gaze linger on him longer than necessary. "You notice things if you pay attention. Faces, movements, reactions. You can learn more about someone from a glance than an hour of conversation."
His lips parted slightly, curiosity mingling with something else—a spark I had learned to read years ago. Interest. Suspicion. Desire.
I let him stew in that combination. Let him try to measure me. Let him fail.
By the end of lunch, I had him talking about himself, about his family, his hobbies, the sports teams he liked. I nodded, laughed softly when appropriate, but every smile, every laugh, every tilt of my head was calculated. I wasn't just being friendly. I was mapping him. Cataloging his weaknesses, his triggers, his boundaries.
Later that day, I sat in the library, pretending to read while I observed him through the glass.
He was predictable. He smiled at a girl who waved at him. He flinched when someone bumped into him. He frowned at the teacher when scolded.
Perfect.
Every person is a puzzle, and Liam's puzzle was simple: insecurity wrapped in arrogance. He wanted to be admired, wanted to be noticed, wanted to matter. All I had to do was give him the illusion of importance—and I would have him in my pocket.
I made a note to myself:
1. Make him need me.
2. Make him crave my approval.
3. Make him think he chose me.
Nothing too obvious. Subtlety was key. You never scare the prey on the first day. You let them come closer. You let them chase.
The next morning, the halls were crowded. Lockers slammed, students rushed, sneakers squeaked against polished tile. Liam was at his locker, fumbling with his books, clearly distracted.
I walked past, letting my hand brush against his shoulder—not too much, just enough for him to notice.
"Hey," I said softly.
He looked up, startled. "Hey…"
I smiled faintly. "You looked like you needed help."
He froze. "Uh… my math homework… I can't find the… uh…"
I tilted my head, pretending thoughtfulness. "Do you want me to help?"
He hesitated. Then nodded quickly. "Yeah… if you don't mind."
Inside, I smirked. Control is an intoxicating drug, and I had my first dose.
We sat under a tree during break, books spread in front of us. I guided him carefully, offering hints instead of answers. I watched him relax, lean closer, laugh at my jokes, occasionally glance at my lips or hair. Small, insignificant gestures—but they told me everything.
By the end of the week, he was subtly rearranging his schedule to be near me. Holding the door open when I walked by. Texting me when he knew I was leaving school. The game had begun, and I had set the rules.